


Sweet Disaster

by shaynemichele



Category: Psych
Genre: Episode references, First Time, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Psychtober (but late), Shassie, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaynemichele/pseuds/shaynemichele
Summary: "Some nights feel like every night, this one feels brand new."Carlton gets talked into going to a costume party and surprises everyone, including himself.Shawn, of course, suspected all along.





	Sweet Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters or lyrics mentioned here. This is for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> This was supposed to be ready for Pyschtober. At least the first half was written then. I guess I could have waited until next year but, now I have incentive to do another Psychtober fic.
> 
> Another song that reminded me of Shassie: "Sweet Disaster" by Dreamers.  
> Shawn makes it so easy, for Carlton to throw himself away. 
> 
> I threw a lot of various references in here and I hope they work okay.
> 
> Not beta'd so any spelling and grammar mistakes are my own.
> 
> Hope you all like it. Comments welcome!

Halloween 2009

  
Carlton Lassiter stood in his doorway and watched as the last group of costumed children ran happily down the sidewalk. Their carefree innocence and unbridled joy was a sharp contrast to the pressing sense of dread that hovered over him. “Poor kids,” he thought. “Before they know it all this candy and fun will dissolve into the deep pit of despair known as adulthood”.

Flopping down on the couch, he unwrapped the last Kit-Kat he had saved for himself, and broke off a piece. The chocolatey, crunchy sweetness did nothing to improve his mood. Damn O’Hara and her stupid optimism. She had conned him into this situation and he didn’t have the heart to say no.

Halloween fell on a Saturday this year, and the two detectives had the day off and no urgent cases that required overtime. Late Friday afternoon, Juliet O’Hara had approached his desk, smiling and holding something behind her back. Spencer and Guster, the two clowns from the Psych agency followed shortly behind her, stupid grins plastered on their faces.

“Carlton, guess what?” She held out a brightly colored piece of paper. Lassiter stared down at the folders spread out in front of him, perturbed.

“What, O’Hara? I’m trying to finish up these reports so I can leave on time for a change.”

She waved the orange and black flyer under his nose. “Tom Blair’s Pub is having a costume party tomorrow! We’re going,” she motioned at the two men beside her. “And we’re taking you. No excuses!”

Carlton shook his head. “NO, O’Hara. No. I don’t dress up and make an ass out of myself like…” he pointed his pencil at Shawn and Gus, but Juliet assumed she was included.

“Are you calling me an ASS, Carlton?”

Shawn jumped to her defense. “Yeah, Lassie, just because you don’t know how to let loose and have fun doesn’t mean we can’t. He turned to the junior detective, frustrated. “See, Jules, I told you he was a huge stick in the mud.“

Guster nodded. “I agree, it’s a lost cause. We’re wasting our time here. C’mon Shawn, I hear some jerk chicken calling my name.” He headed towards the exit.

“You know that’s right,” Shawn agreed. “See you tomorrow night, Jules!“

Juliet sat down on Lassiter’s desk looking crestfallen. “Carlton, you need to get out and do something! You can’t just sit around at home watching the History channel all the time! I thought your therapist said you should try new things?”

He relaxed a bit with just his partner there. Sometimes he felt …weird with Shawn and Gus. Like they were judging him. Like they were the cool, fun kids and he was just some dork they used as the butt of their jokes. Spencer especially. He felt like the “psychic” (yeah right) purposely did things to annoy and antagonize him, testing his limits of patience and restraint. Sometimes he resisted accosting Shawn; other times he had less self-control and forcibly removed him or physically threatened him. Guster was a little easier to deal with, being somewhat on the nerdy side himself, and he had let Carlton into his tap class, but Shawn…his self-confident sneer and attention-grabbing actions made Carlton uncomfortable and nervous in a way he couldn’t quite define.

“I know, O’Hara…” he rubbed his eyes and looked down at his desk again. “It’s just…”

Juliet knew all the excuses. She also saw through all of them and knew her partner was just being stubborn, wanting to wallow in the self-pity Victoria left behind in the wake of the divorce. It was easier to do than putting forth the effort to be sociable. “Carlton…seriously. You stare down criminals all day long. You tap danced in front of a crowd of people without flinching. Why is this so scary? You can’t just come out and have a few drinks with us for one night? Besides, it’s Halloween…you don’t have to be yourself. That’s the beauty of it. It’s the one night we can all pretend to be anything we want.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and he felt the kindness and concern in her touch. “Please? For me?” Her eyes were soft and pleading. It reminded him of his little sister Lulu, begging him to take her for ice cream. “Please, Carl,” she would say, tugging on his sleeve, and he could never say no.

“Okay, Juliet. All right, I’ll go.” He sighed. Juliet clapped and giggled. “It’s going to be so much fun! I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon with the plan!” Her heels clicked loudly down the hall as he stared again at the reports, wondering if there was any way he could stretch the paperwork out for the whole weekend and weasel his way out of this mess.

 Which lead him to now, T-minus two hours before the limo arrived with a giddy and costumed Juliet O’Hara, who held the unrealistic expectation that he would be giddy and costumed as well. Sitting on the couch eating leftover Halloween candy was not helping him. He had committed and couldn’t disappoint her. He went to the kitchen and poured some bourbon. Maybe it would help with the giddy part…the costume was another problem. He could always wear the outfit from “Stars of Tap”, but that wasn’t really a costume. Just a hat with one of his standard suits and a skinnier tie.

Glass in hand, he headed to the bedroom closet. Normally the sight of his neatly lined up dark suits, stiffly pressed dress shirts, black and brown shoes polished to a military grade shine, made him happy and peaceful. This is who he is. A professional, no-nonsense detective. Even his ties, one of the few accessory options he had that could convey color and personality, were serious and standard hues and patterns. Not a purple or paisley on the rack.

He sat down on the bed and downed the rest of his drink. No wonder he had no social life. He was boring. Drab. Had he always been this way? How the hell did he even get any dates since he had become a serious “just the facts Ma’am” professional? Oh, right…he only met them at work. Which never panned out for various reasons.

From his vantage point on the bed, he saw a box in the corner of the closet. He had forgotten it was there, something that Victoria returned to him after the divorce was final. Fearing it held things that would only evoke sad memories, he had shoved it into the back of the closet without opening it. What the hell, he thought…I’m punishing myself anyway by going to this damn party, might as well pile more crap on. He pulled it from the darkness, coughing from the dust, and prepared for the worst.

After refilling his drink…thank God O’Hara was a practical woman and hired a limo for the evening…he opened the box and began to examine the contents. He had been right to ignore it when his ex-wife had first delivered it. Their crystal framed wedding picture was on top. Time, anger and some therapy made him immune to any nostalgic emotions it could evoke. That happy day full of hope and promise was far, far away now. The hurt and sadness of the separation and divorce were closer. Irretrievably broken. Those words on the divorce papers had pierced Carlton’s heart; there was no vest, no Kevlar, that could protect him from that. His marriage had failed. He had failed. What did it matter that he had loved Victoria, that he had entered into the partnership in good faith with the best of intentions…that piece of paper laid it all to rest, the death of his last hope buried under pages of legalese. And now it was just acceptance, water under the bridge, whatever…he had learned not to take all of the blame. He had realized, sadly and slowly, that he really was better off without her. Even if he was alone with his guns and the History Channel.

Laying the wedding picture aside with a mental note to possibly use it for target practice, he moved on to the rest of the box. His college yearbook, filled with memories of friends and lovers. He had been different back then. Someone who didn’t have to be begged to go to a party. The whole totally serious thing started when he met Victoria, trying to impress her stuffed shirt father, to prove he could be successful and someone worthy of her hand. He emptied the glass again. Shit. No matter what he did, he had never measured up. He could be the goddamn president and it wouldn’t have been good enough for that pompous asshat.

Something white in the box caught his eye and he laughed. His old Sex Pistols “God Save the Queen” T-shirt. He had been into some retro punk music when he was younger. Aside from history and criminology, music was something he had really enjoyed until it was cast aside, a victim of his pursuit of seriousness. He used to wear the old shirt sometimes, hanging around the house or working in the yard, until prissy Victoria told him how embarrassed she would be if her father or some of his lodge buddies saw him wearing it. Then he put it away, like so many other parts of himself he hid on her behalf.

“Well, fuck that,” he said out loud. It’s Halloween after all. The night we don’t have to be ourselves, just like O’Hara had said. We can pretend to be whoever we want. And right now, he wanted to be anyone other than stick in the mud, boring, serious, professional Head Detective Carlton J. Lassiter.

*************************************************************************************

“HOLY CRAP! Carlton?” Juliet could not believe her eyes as she stepped out of the town car. She was dressed, somewhat predictably, as Wonder Woman. Any criminal who had gone up against her knew she was the closest real thing to the comic book heroine, minus the invisible plane. But the man who stood in front of her was miles away from predictable. He bore a resemblance to her partner in the face…well, apart from the dark liner that rimmed his sapphire eyes, but the rest of him? “What?” he shrugged, acting perfectly normal. Secretly, he was thrilled at her reaction and fought back a smirk. Who’s a stick in the mud bore now?

He moved to get into the car but she held his arm back. “Wait! Let me see!” She was beaming. Finally, her persistence had paid off. If Carlton had relaxed enough to look the way he did, surely he would relax enough to have fun tonight. His black hair, normally combed and parted to the side, was spiked up with hair gel. He wore vintage Levis that were worn and ripped in several places; a studded black leather belt, red, scuffed high-top Vans, and a fitted white T-shirt with a British flag and a picture of the Queen, her eyes and mouth blanked out like she was in the witness protection program and replaced with words in mismatched fonts. “The Sex Pistols? Wow, Carlton…I thought you might have dressed as Dirty Harry or worn your Civil War uniform, but this – this is so…unexpected!”

The smirk couldn’t be contained any longer. “What can I say, O’Hara? I’m full of surprises.”

*************************************************************************************************

Gus had been peeved at Shawn for changing the plan at the last minute. They had planned to wear their “American Duos” outfits, hoping to repeat their stellar performance during karaoke. Instead Shawn wanted to dress as a biker, just so he could wear the leather vest he had bartered for on the Tankana case. “That’s not a costume, Shawn,” Gus huffed at the decision. “You actually own a motorcycle.” Shawn’s costume change caused him to rethink everything and he had to buy something at the last minute. Luckily it was perfect for cosplay at the next Tricon.

Now the two best friends were seated at a bar table, chatting with Buzz and Francine McNabb. The pair was dressed adorably as Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Gus was drinking a beer while Shawn sipped some vodka concoction decorated with pineapple wedges and maraschino cherries. The fancy drink in his hand was a sharp contrast to his rough appearance…darker than normal stubble, heavy black boots, chain wallet, and of course the black leather vest with the huge eagle on the back. But he kind of enjoyed being a walking contradiction. All conversation stopped as the four turned to look at the guests who just entered.

Juliet was a vision, naturally. She was always a kick-ass woman who could turn heads, but this was epic. Gus was suddenly happy about the change of plans that caused him to dress as the Green Lantern. As a fellow superhero, he could definitely score some points with her now. “Whaaaat?!” He turned to Shawn excitedly, but Shawn's eyes were fixated on someone else.

To say that Shawn Spencer was obsessed about Carlton Lassiter was an understatement. In the daytime, Spencer worked hard to show up the prickly detective. But at night, the man haunted his dreams in a way he didn’t understand. Sure, Shawn had been with men before, maybe not in love with a particular man, just the occasional crush or casual fling. But Carlton Lassiter had gotten under his skin.

The blue eyes, the sternum bush, the haughty attitude…something about him affected Shawn in a love-hate way he couldn’t shake off. In his dreams, Lassiter became aggravated at him, pushed to the brink and grabbing him by the collar. That part wasn’t so different from real life. But then came the obvious dreamy imagination part…instead of slamming him into the wall or throwing him out of the police station, Lassiter was drawing Shawn closer, pulling him into full-body contact, his lips crushing into Shawn’s with urgency. That was the part that shocked and confused him. Why would he lust after someone he couldn’t stand? Unless…it was like an odd form of flattery. The reason he competed so much with Lassie was because he actually liked him. He wanted Lassiter to notice him, whether the attention was good or bad. Like an ignored child, Shawn would use any tactic to get the attention of this man. He felt sure his mom would have some psychological explanation for that. Shrinky stuff aside, he knew that his infatuation with the head detective was real. He just wasn’t sure how to handle it.

He had tried flirting with Carlton. He threw a few compliments in with the insults. He made a point of grabbing at him during his “visions”: sat on his lap, clutched his calf, played with his tie. He even signed a note to the detective with “H&K’s”. All to no avail. Carlton would just hiss and glare, “Get off me, Spencer!” or something similar. Not the reaction Shawn had hoped for. Of course, there had always been other people present during those instances. The rough man-handling only happened when they were alone, probably because Lassiter didn’t want to be accused of excessive use of force. Adding to the difficulty was the fact that Shawn wasn’t even sure Carlton was interested in men. He thought he picked up on some hints; but he couldn’t ask outright. And he wasn’t sure Carlton knew he went “both ways”. It all amounted to a lot of frustration and confusion on Shawn’s part. And lots of aggravation on Lassiter’s.

Wonder Woman and her punk rock partner approached the group and greetings were exchanged. Gus switched to “playa” mode and directed his suave “Hellooo…” at Juliet. “Hey, Jules,” Shawn smiled absentmindedly, eyes still glued to Lassiter. He quickly downed the rest of his drink before saying anything else.

The head detective shot a glance in Shawn’s direction. The black liner made his eyes even more piercing and the psychic suddenly felt hot; the burning in his chest wasn’t just from the vodka. “Spencer,” Lassiter nodded, nonchalant. He turned his head towards Gus with a disapproving look. “Why the hell are you wearing a leotard?”

Gus clicked his tongue against his teeth, annoyed. “It’s not a leotard, Lassiter. I’m the Green Lantern, an intergalactic crime fighter.” He made a fist and pointed at his ring, then turned to Wonder Woman beside him. “Juliet, you need to school your partner on the DC universe. But right now, I think we need to get some snacks.” He extended his hand towards her and the two took off for the buffet.

Luckily for Shawn, Chief Vick appeared at that moment, her husband and daughter in tow. The family of leopards was on their way out; Iris was one tired cub, yawning in her dad’s arms as they quietly said their goodbyes to the rest of the department. Then Dobson came over, dressed as a Top Gun pilot, and that prevented Shawn from being alone with Lassiter for a while longer. Shawn was drinking another vodka-pineapple-Sprite mixture and had just popped the maraschino cherry into his mouth when Dobson walked away and Lassiter suddenly turned towards him.

“Hey, Lassie,” he said, “would you like to see me tie this in a knot with my tongue?” Shawn waved the stem at him. He immediately regretted it; it had been a long time since he had attempted that trick and wasn’t sure he could perform it if Lassiter actually showed interest.

Carlton rolled his eyes. He pointed towards the dance floor. That was where Dobson had run off to, a slow dance with his girlfriend. Gus and Juliet sashayed into their view, locked in a gaze and swaying to the music together. “I don’t get it, Spencer…I figured that would be you out there with O’Hara, not Guster. You constantly flirt with her at the station. What gives?"

Shawn sighed. He had been interested in Juliet at first, but now he considered her a good friend. Mostly because he was much more interested in her partner. “Well, Lassie, I know when to admit defeat. I can’t compete with Gus. I don’t smell like lavender, I don’t have that chocolatey smoothness and I’ll never wear a green leotard. Besides, Jules deserves somebody like him. I’m too much of a bad boy.” He raised his lip in a sneer.

Oddly, Carlton found his facial expression rather sexy. He diffused his feelings with a snide comment. “Bad boy? With tattoos that came out of a gumball machine?” He poked at the dagger-pierced heart on Spencer’s bicep. The touch of his fingertips felt sharp and hot, like the knife.

“At least I can pull it off. But who are you kidding, Sid Vicious? Seriously?” He laughed, a little too much.

Lassiter drained his whiskey glass. “Let’s just say there’s a lot about me you don’t know, Shawn.” He turned and walked towards the bar for a refill.

Shawn got nervous when Carlton called him by his first name. Lassiter had turned serious when Shawn had intended to keep up the bickering, and he hoped he hadn’t chased him away. He wasn’t trying to insult him, really, it was just so…un-Lassiterian, the way he looked, and though Shawn loved the suit and tie gruffness, punk!Lassie was hot in a different way. But that last comment was very intriguing. What didn’t Shawn know; what were his “psychic” senses missing? Hopefully Lassiter would return to the table and he would have a chance to learn more.

Carlton had laid his glass down on the bar and motioned for the bartender to make it a double. He swallowed it down and quickly ran off to the men’s room. He needed a moment to think. Maybe all the whiskey was clouding his mind; maybe this idea of being “someone else” was confusing him. He reached back into his past for something familiar, a circumstance to compare with how he was feeling now. He really wasn’t being “someone else”, after all…he was being Carlton. Carlton before Victoria, Carlton before the SBPD. Carlton who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid or intimidated by it. He would not be ruled by convention. If he was truthful to himself, the evidence had been there all along. He was just too stubborn to notice it. He glared at himself in the mirror. The heart wants what the heart wants, and he will show that damn snarky psychic what a bad boy he can be.

Shawn sat at the bar table and rhythmically kicked at it, enjoying the vibration and slight pain the metal table leg sent through his steel toe boots. The waitress had come by, luckily. He would die of thirst before he left his seat. He would stay right there, where Lassie could find him when he came back. If he came back. Shawn had ordered a beer. That sweet drink he enjoyed earlier didn’t seem appropriate any more. He had ordered another whiskey for Lassiter too, just in case he came back. If he didn’t…well Shawn would drink it then. Drowning his sorrows was acceptable in this situation. He watched Jules and Gus getting cozy in a corner booth. Shit. Sure, he was happy for them; they were his best and sweetest, kindest friends. They absolutely deserved it. He had been an idiot to think he had any chance at all with Lassiter. So if he ended the evening alone, he had no one to blame but himself.

The DJ put on another slow song and Shawn recognized it immediately. Curt Smith, how could you, he thought. How could you kick me when I’m down? “I wanted to be with you alone, and talk about the weather…” Gus and Jules walked to the dance floor hand in hand, and Shawn kicked the table again, harder this time, rattling the glassware atop it.

“Spencer, what the hell?” Lassiter grabbed an empty bottle before it crashed to the floor and Shawn looked up, startled. “Lassie! I thought you’d left.”

 Carlton sat down and pointed at the whiskey glass, asking permission silently, and Shawn nodded as he sipped it. “I’m glad I didn’t. If you start breaking bottles and get drunk and disorderly, I need to be the one to put the cuffs on you.” Remembering his lecture to himself in the bathroom, he put his hand on the psychic’s leg and whispered in his ear. “But I bet you’d like that.”

A jolt of heat shot through Shawn’s body. “Maybe I would.” Lassiter’s large hand felt like it was burning a hole in his jeans, and the fire was going straight to his groin. In the distance he heard Curt Smith’s sweet voice sing, “I’m lost in admiration, can I need you this much?” and he hoped Lassie’s persuasion wouldn’t be too gentle. He was hopeful and scared and nervous all at the same time, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “This…this is what, Lassie?” He stuttered, unsure.

Carlton sighed and leaned back again, taking his hand away but leaving the warm imprinted memory on Shawn’s leg. “This is me, seizing the moment. Not analyzing, not playing it safe, just taking a chance.”

Spencer’s eyes were wide and dark, his mouth slightly open. Carlton was secretly amused; he’d rendered him speechless. Shawn’s expression and reaction proved Carlton’s bathroom epiphany. All the times he had pinned Spencer to the wall or grabbed him roughly, he wasn’t scared after all. He was aroused. The dilated pupils, his chest heaving like he’d just run miles…Carlton just didn’t see the reality of it; it was too far-fetched to even imagine at the time. He was blinded by his preconception of what and who Spencer was, by his own fears and denial. Spencer had sat on his lap for God’s sake, and though his body instinctively reacted his strict mind slammed the door on it. Maybe Shawn had known his secret all along? Someday he would find out just how much, if anything, Shawn had sensed, but this was not the time for discussions.

Apparently Spencer agreed. He smiled widely. “Well in that case, Carpe Diem, Lassie.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Carlton’s, soft and sweet at first, until Lassiter pulled him off the bar stool by his belt and chains and he lost all restraint and composure. Breaking the kiss to catch his breath, Shawn leaned his forehead into Lassiter’s chest, face to face with the Queen and her mismatched fonts. He chuckled at that and looked out of the corner of his eye to see Jules giving him a thumbs up from the dance floor.

*************************************************************************************

The conversation between the two sets of friends before departing Tom Blair’s couldn’t have been more opposite.  Juliet had been keeping an eye on Lassiter while canoodling with Gus. She had dragged him here and felt responsible for him. Being a detective, she had the ability to observe and take notice of action around the room, even while being occupied with something else. In her covert glances, she always saw him talking or laughing with somebody, never without a drink in his hand, and felt sure he was actually enjoying himself. She was pleased with her success at getting him to be more social. When her last glance revealed him kissing Shawn, she was overjoyed. So when he approached her to ask about the limo arrangements, she was happy to hand over her portion of the cash and tip for the driver. “Carlton! YOU take the limo, and Shawn! Gus has only had two beers and he can drive me home.” She smiled and winked suggestively. “I am SO happy for you guys. You were serious when you said you were full of surprises!”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Gus and Shawn’s conversation was not going as well. “You must be outta your damn mind, Shawn! Both of you are outta your damn minds!” The green intergalactic crime fighter had not been as observant as his dance partner. His eyes were only fixated on his Wonder Woman, Juliet, his only thoughts were how he could impress her and take the relationship further. It was typical of Gus to become oblivious to the world around him when a girl got his attention. He figured Shawn was used to it and could certainly take care of himself in the social and flirting department. But now, he failed to pay attention and keep track of his best friend, and as soon as he looked away Shawn had gotten himself into a mess. “Seriously, Shawn? Lassiter?? I can’t believe this. What the hell is wrong with you? How much did the two of you drink? Dude, there is not enough liquor in the world…” He trailed off as he looked over at Juliet and Lassiter smiling and chatting. He shook his head in disbelief at his friend. “You can just say goodbye to Psych right now, Shawn, because as soon as the two of you come to your senses we’ll never work for the SBPD again. This is a disaster!”

Shawn laughed. “Yeah, a sweet one! Come on, Gus…how did you not realize I had a crush on Lassie? Don’t worry, I won’t screw this up, I promise! Besides, you’re all up in there with Jules. What if that turns into a disaster?”

Gus drew in a deep breath, aggravated. “Shawn, I cannot do this with you right now. Just let me say for the record, if Lassiter ends up shooting you, I will not be held responsible.” He walked away towards Juliet and switched back into cool Gus playa mode.

The ride home in the limo was a blur. After Shawn hit the partition button several times, causing it to rise and drop repeatedly, Lassiter grabbed his hands and pinned them to the seat, straddling Shawn and kissing him roughly. Shawn moaned at the act of control and thrust his hips upwards, eliciting a similar moan from the head detective. Once they arrived at Carlton’s home and the limo driver was paid and dismissed, they stood near the doorway while Carlton found his keys, Shawn’s roaming hands and lips distracting him and complicating the simple task.

Finally inside Carlton grabbed a few bottles of water from the fridge to bring to the bedroom. Hydration would be necessary for the physical activity about to take place. He slowed Shawn down, reaching his hands under the leather vest and pulling up the back of his t-shirt, caressing his back at a medium pace and nuzzling at his neck. “Shawn,” he murmured against the sensitive skin, “I don’t know about you, but it’s been a very, very long time since I’ve done something like this. So can we take it a little slower?” He licked at the psychic’s jawline, prompting a shudder. “I just…want to do it right.”

“No problemo, Lassiteros.” Shawn’s voice was husky in spite of the silly phrasing. “Just so you know, you’re doing everything right so far.” He shed his vest and reached for the studded belt circling Lassiter’s hips, unbuckling it and running his palm over the straining bulge covered in vintage denim.

Piece by piece the two men undressed each other, taking the time to kiss and caress as new skin was exposed, appreciating the beauty they saw in each other’s bodies. Shawn had some issues kicking off his boots and fell back onto the bed, legs in the air trapped by his jeans. Carlton came to the rescue and pulled them from his feet, jeans next, and marveled at the firm, tan muscles beneath him. His breath caught at the sight of the wet spot on the front of Spencer’s boxer briefs, the erection outlined next to it. The wanting and needy look on the psychic’s face, the leaking hardness…he was amazed that he could be the reason for it. Why, why the hell had he waited…Shawn smiled at him, his eyes hooded. “C’mere, Lassie. You’re too far away. I can’t kiss you way up there.”

Shawn tried to take it slow, but he had his limits. This was just so good, better than he had ever dreamed, or imagined. Carlton was a passionate kisser and even if it had been a while since he’d been with a man, Shawn soon realized the one in his arms was just a great lover overall, no matter who was on the receiving end of his attentions. He sucked and licked at Shawn’s neck and chest, biting at his nipples, but when he cupped his balls and started firmly stroking his dick, Shawn had to stop him before it was all over too fast. “That…feels so good…but just…let me have a turn with you, Carlton, okay?”

Lassiter suddenly felt self-conscious; it was easier for him to control the situation and he felt vulnerable lying back and letting the other man pleasure him. Shawn sensed this and tried to make him feel at ease. He traced circles around Lassiter’s nipples with his tongue, followed the line of hair down his stomach, caressed his length through his boxers before slowly pulling them down and off.

Shawn slid down the bed so he could be at eye level with the object of his desire. Carlton watched as he kissed along the shaft and licked up the wetness that had pooled at the tip. It was obvious Shawn was enjoying this. Lassiter should have known he would be talented; he had seen the man eat popsicles after all. Shawn moaned as he swallowed Lassiter down, and from his vantage point Carlton noticed the psychic’s own cock twitch in response. It had been quite a while since Shawn had done this, too. Since coming back to Santa Barbara, he had only dated women. No man had measured up to his standards enough, to be worth taking a risk for. Lassiter was worth everything, he thought, as he relished the feel of Carlton’s dick moving through his hands and into his mouth. It was like iron and velvet, heavy and hard but smooth and plush at the same time. He certainly hoped he’d get to feel it somewhere else, too.

Carlton’s balls had tightened and Shawn stroked them with his free hand, his fingers drifting down occasionally to press at his entrance. Whatever nerves had plagued the head detective before were gone, wiped away by Shawn’s skilled mouth and hands. He arched his back and plunged further into Shawn’s throat, letting our a low, primal moan as he flooded his mouth. Shawn greedily took it all and Carlton watched his neck flex as he swallowed. After a while, he rested his head on Lassiter’s belly and let his dick slide from his lips. “Damn, Lassie…” was all he could say.

Carlton rested his hand on top of Shawn’s now-mussed thick brown hair, rising and falling with the heavy breaths rolling through his body. “That…was…amazing, Shawn. Wow.” His entire body felt limp but he knew he had to, and wanted to, repay the favor, though he was unsure if he could measure up to Shawn’s performance.

He kissed Shawn, hesitantly at first, then deeper, not minding the taste of himself that lingered on the psychic’s lips. He broke the kiss momentarily to shuffle through the nightstand drawer for some lube. He hadn’t used it on anyone but himself in a long time. Placing himself in a better position on the bed, he warmed the thick liquid in his palms as he tongued at Shawn’s dick. It wasn’t really fair to tease him but he was enjoying watching Shawn’s reactions to each kiss and lick. “Come on, Lassie, “ he groaned in an almost pained voice. “Please.”

The need and heat in Shawn’s voice went right to Carlton’s dick, and he felt a twinge at that, even though he had just had an awesome orgasm. “So you do have some manners, after all.” The liquid was warm now and he rubbed it over Shawn’s balls and down to his tight asshole, while finally allowing his mouth to encase his straining erection. He gently worked one long finger into Shawn’s ass, his palm gliding over his balls, and when he finally reached the sweet spot and began stroking against it, Shawn cried out.

Lassiter wanted to see this, to take it all in as Shawn came apart. He replaced his mouth with his hand, the lube and saliva creating a delicious friction. Shawn was nearly crying, mumbling “Lassie, so good, please…” his hips rising off the bed to meet Carlton’s long strokes and allow him more access to his prostate. “Come for me, Shawn,” he said in a gruff and commanding voice, and Shawn was lost, spraying over Lassiter’s hands, his whole body taught and straining as he obeyed the head detective’s command.

 *************************************************************************************

Carlton woke up to the sunlight beaming through the cracks of the blinds. It was unusual for him to sleep much past dawn; even on the weekends he normally got up early for a run. He felt something constricting across his back and realized he was wearing his shoulder rig…no shirt, no pants, nothing but the figure eight leather straps and holsters that normally held his gun and ammo. The sheets and pillows were smudged with black marks and an empty condom wrapper was lying next to his head.

He heard a soft noise and looked down at the floor. Shawn Spencer, only in his underwear, was curled up on the bedside shag rug, holding one of Lassiter’s own dress shirts in a tight embrace. For some reason the floor was littered with shirts and Carlton saw that Spencer had upended the laundry basket he was due to take to the dry cleaner’s. Spencer had hickeys on his neck and chest and a half worn off fake tattoo on his left arm, his normally perfect hair sticking up in all directions.

His head hurt, but it only took a few moments to remember how he and Spencer had ended up in their respective positions. The costume party, the whiskey, the limo, the sex…the first time…it was the second time that caused this result. Spencer had confessed he loved the shoulder holsters, they made Lassiter’s chest and shoulders look so good, accented all his muscles just perfectly. Especially the black leather ones against the white dress shirts…and what the hell was going on with Spencer and anything leather, anyway?  Carlton remembered, the Friday night before the party, he had put his gun and extra clip away in his top drawer when he got home, took off the shirt and threw it in the basket; the holster must have gone in with it. That sent Shawn into a mad search through the laundry, he had to find it, had to have Lassiter in it NOW. And then the memory of Shawn, slicked up and sinking onto Carlton’s hard cock, riding him and clutching the leather straps, saying over and over how good it was, until Carlton exploded into him and Shawn spilled into Lassiter’s hand and onto his stomach.

Spencer stirred on the rug below. He threw something up at Lassiter, a white piece of clothing. The T-shirt he wore at the party. “God Save the Queen, Lassie.” He kneeled and rested his chin on the bed, a dreamy look on his face directed at the head detective. “You…you, Carlton LassiePants Lassiter, give a whole new meaning to the term ‘Sex Pistol’.” Then he was back down on the rug in the pile of shirts.

Carlton stepped over him on the way to the bathroom. He was sore in muscles he didn’t even know he had, his mouth was dry and his head hurt like hell, but he was happy. Maybe that other non-drab Carpe Diem version of himself got it right. He took some aspirin and got a look at himself in the mirror. “Sweet Lady Justice! I look like Emilina Saffron on a three day bender!”

Maybe Carpe Diem Carlton was right about everything except the eyeliner.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was also inspired by a fine photo of one of my favorite actors dressed this way at a Xena con...not sure of the backstory, but I liked the look. Unfortunately I can't figure out how to paste it here. But I think you might be able to find it on his instagram or twitter. ;-)


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